


Twin Soliloquies: Phryne and Jack

by Penny_P



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 15:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P
Summary: Phryne is flying her father back to England, and Jack is standing on the air strip, watching her go.  What was going through their minds?





	1. Twin Soliloquies:  Phryne

**Author's Note:**

> I fell in love with Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries at once and binged through it twice, not wanting it to end. This is my coda to the series, and the only fanfiction I have attempted outside the Trek universe. Salute to Rodgers & Hammerstein for the title.

She waved as the plane gained altitude, and had no doubt that Jack saw the gesture, even from this distance. The sky was clear, the engine drowned out her father’s continuous stream of complaints, and her smile refused to dim. He had come to see her off. He had kissed her, after she asked him to come after her. There was a lot of promise in that kiss.

Their goodbyes last night had been wholly unsatisfactory. Once she hatched the plan to fly her father to England in time to satisfy her mother and save her parents’ marriage, there had been no time for a proper farewell. Between arranging for the plane to be ready, packing, leaving detailed instructions for Mr. B., as well as fending off constant interruptions from her father and Aunt Prue, there had not been an instant of privacy. Around midnight, Aunt Prue had hinted - with poorly hidden disapproval - that it was time for the Inspector to leave. He saw how harried she was and bid her safe journey. His sad smile and warm look were almost as good as a kiss, but not quite.

When she saw his car arrive at the air strip in the morning, her heart soared. Now, in the solitude of the sky, she could wonder at how much joy the sight of a single man had caused. If anyone had told her when she returned to Australia that she would ever feel this way about anyone, she would have laughed them off. Even as a child on the dirty streets of Collingwood, fairy-tale-princess- happily-ever-after was never her ambition.

And now, even admitting how much she loved that quiet, rock solid man, she still didn’t see the traditional happily-ever-after in their future. Marriage was a trap for women, and one she firmly intended to avoid. The mandatory change of name was merely the outward acknowledgement of a complete loss of identity. She wasn’t willing to cease to be Phryne Fisher to be Mrs. Anyone, not even Mrs. Jack Robinson. In every marriage she’d ever seen, the woman surrendered her dreams and lived instead in her husband’s shadow. Even in the happiest marriages, like Pierre and Veronique Sarcelle, the couple worked in tandem to achieve the husband’s ambitions. No. Phyrne had her own dreams, and as she once told Jack, she was living them. Giving that up would be a dagger in her soul.

“Phryne!” Her father’s voice, raised above the noise of the engine, cut into her thoughts. He said something else, but it was garbled and unintelligible. The petulant tone was unmistakable, though. She didn’t ask for clarification, merely gestured at the view around them.

“It’s a big, wide, world,” she told Jack on the air strip, and she wanted all of it – to taste it, smell it, live it all. She’d been born with intelligence and confidence, and the poverty of her childhood had birthed a burning desire to escape the chains of Collingwood. The horrors of the War had proved that life was too short to defer dreams. Carpe diem? No, Carpe vitae! Second chances were rare and never guaranteed.

And yet, wasn’t Jack himself a second chance? Her first true love, for Rene Dubois, had been a passion so deep she thought it might kill her. When he betrayed her devotion with his abuse and cruelty, she vowed to never allow anyone that close again. She chose her lovers carefully, seeking those who could provide pleasure without any messy complications. She liked them all well enough, for one reason or another, but no one claimed her heart. Fortress Phryne remained inviolate.

Odd, that a woman as, uh, experienced as she should think of herself as a fortress. That symbolism usually applied to one’s virginity. But what a silly waste of effort and emotion, trying to protect something destined to be lost. Instead, she had chosen to protect something much more important – her essential self. Her fortress might be designed differently than other women’s, but it was there nonetheless.

When had Jack breached her defenses? By the time she realized it, it was an old, established fact. He snuck in when she wasn’t looking, which was silly because she had been on guard all the time. Even before he had kissed her at the Montparnasse, she had been aware of her attraction to him and his for her. At first it had been a flirtation, a game. But then he kissed her, a kiss totally out of context and not intended for any romantic reasons, and she was gobsmacked. Not since Rene had anything aroused her so quickly and deeply. If Rene himself had not been directly involved in that case, things might have gone differently that night.

But Rene was involved, and he brought with him his arrogance, and his male dominance, and the memories of a relationship where monogamy was equated with control. A decade later, he still held a piece of her soul and it took all her strength to resist him a second time. The realization that her carefully constructed life of freedom and independence was vulnerable rocked her badly. Despite the promises within that kiss, Phryne resolved to keep Jack as a flirtation.

A banging noise interrupted her again, and she realized the Baron was pounding his hand against the side of the plane and trying to talk to her. She glanced at her watch. They’d been in the air just over an hour. If he kept this up, the flight would seem twice as long as it really was. “I need to stop,” he shouted.

“Why?”

He scrunched his face into an expression she recognized, the “you know exactly what I mean” look he had used with her since childhood. The man, she realized, needed to relieve himself.

“I’ll find a place,” she shouted. Oh, yes, this was going to be a long flight indeed. They were going to have to come up with something to accommodate him for the long stretches when no landing would be feasible.

She began scanning for a likely landing spot, but her thoughts returned to Jack. Her valiant resolution had proved to be worthless. The flirtation turned to friendship, which initially seemed safe enough. But when Murdoch Foyle was on the loose, Jack was the one person who made her feel safe. He was the one person with whom she could share her fear. Was that when it happened, when he slipped past her defenses? She still wasn’t sure. She had not allowed herself to be vulnerable with anyone since, oh, since the first time her father cuffed her while he was drunk.

Over time, she learned things about him that intrigued her. He could play the piano well and danced better than some of the young scions she’d known in Europe. He quoted Shakespeare and other poets often and accurately. And oh, yes, - he was married.

The Baron turned around as much as he could and looked at her with a pleading expression. “I’m trying,” she shouted.

Learning Jack was married but separated had brought her up rather sharply. Yes, it explained why he had not pressed the flirtation; that should have been a comfort but it bothered her. It bothered her a lot. He said the War had changed him, which she knew was very likely, but even so, she didn’t fully understand until she met Rosie, just after the divorce. Rosie was an attractive but excruciatingly ordinary woman. The pre-War Jack would have been content with ordinary. The Jack of Phryne’s acquaintance wanted more.

So they flirted and danced around each other, all the while revealing themselves to each other in small but precious increments, growing closer in every way but physically. And then came that night, when (fueled by far too much liquor) he told her that he didn’t want to change her but he didn’t want to share her, either. Oh, that had frightened her down to her core. Men always said they didn’t want a woman to change, but underneath, they always did. And the idea of a monogamous relationship was terrifying. Visions of Rene flooded back, reminding her that fidelity meant submission. She wasn’t ready for what he was asking, and she didn’t know if she ever would be. Willfully, and if she were honest with herself, half-heartedly, she took other lovers, trying to prove that she was still free.

How odd that it was Vincenzo Strano who realized it before she did. “Your heart is taken,” he had said sadly. The words stopped her for a moment as she realized not only were they true, they did not frighten her any more. She let it all seep in and eventually realized that she was ready to be faithful to Jack because it was what she wanted, not because it was what he wanted.

Thankfully, they were both ready at the same time. Aunt Prue interrupted their first attempt to talk about it, but Jack came back to the house late that night and quietly, so as not to disturb the house guests, they finally became lovers. She smiled at the memory. Whatever happened to them in the future, she would treasure that night forever. It was the best blend of raw sexual appetite and pure love that she had ever experienced.

It was her idea to keep it a secret. It was too new and too special to be shared yet. So they were discreet and careful, and indulged in silly little misdirections that were loaded with double meanings only they understood. It was fun and kept a little bit of edge in their public interactions, and it deferred the need to make any decisions about the future. But if things had happened differently, they wouldn’t have been able to continue the charade. They would have been forced into the public and face the censure of many.

In a way, the need to fly her father to England bought the relationship some time. That was good. She wanted more time with Jack, lots more of it, but once they went public there would be pressure to do something conventional, probably get engaged. The very thought of it caused a shiver of panic. She wasn’t ready for marriage yet, or even a commitment to a future marriage.

But he had come to see her off. He had come, and her heart had lifted like a bird. How could she leave him for six months? “Come after me,” she had said, knowing that was impossible. Jack lived for his work, and she was asking him to give it up. Was it fair that she ask him to change, when he wasn’t asking her? He was letting her fly off without reproach.

Finally, she spotted a likely place to land and brought the plane down carefully. Her father scrambled out of the front seat and dashed for the cover of some nearby shrubs. Her brow furrowed slightly as she waited. It was going to be a very long trip, especially if he kept up this stream of complaints all the way. And while it was just spring in Australia, it would be fall north of the equator and much colder. He was definitely not going to like that.

If they reached Perth before nightfall, they could take a room and wait for the steamer to make port at Fremantle. He could get on there. It really didn’t matter where he boarded, as long as he was on that ship. His trunks had already been loaded aboard. The Baron would be just fine at sea.

He returned to the plane but stopped before climbing in. “Phyrne,” he said, “This isn’t going to work.”

“I know.”

“I could probably get aboard the steamer at Fremantle. It might take a little, uh, persuasion, but I’m sure they would let me aboard.”

If she could bid him bon voyage from Perth, she could be back in Melbourne the next day, or the next, as weather permitted. And then she and Jack could talk, really talk, about what comes next. Was he willing to face the censure of an “illicit” relationship? Could they continue to work together and do what fulfilled them both? She couldn’t just run away like this. They both deserved a chance to find out what the future could be.

It’s a big wide world, Phryne thought, but seems I’m tethered to Melbourne. She smiled again. “That is an excellent thought. Climb in, Father. We can be in Perth in time for a late supper.”


	2. Twin Soliloquies:  Jack

Twin Soliloquies: Jack

She waved as the plane gained altitude. It was little more than a blurry silhouette but nonetheless, he saw her wave. It was such a typical Phryne gesture – jaunty, a little flirtatious, and hinting at something more, combining goodbye and come along in a single movement.

The first time they met, in the bathroom at the Andrews house, she had been wearing red, or violet, or some shade in between. He remembered because it was the first time he noticed color in a very long time. First he saw her eyes, and then her smile, and then the color.

Everyone said he had come back from the War a changed man. Rosie was the first to utter those words but eventually everyone had said it. At first he discounted it; of course he was changed. Every man who went into combat, who hunkered in the trenches, who saw the terrible cost of victory, was changed by the experience. How could he be unaffected? He had seen the very best of humanity - the courage, the selflessness, the sacrifice, the brotherhood, that lurks within each person waiting for circumstance that forces it to light. But he had also seen the worst - the deceit, the cowardice, the selfishness that served some as protective shields from the danger. And all of it was incubated by the fear, by the blood, by the sickness and the death that shared the trenches with them. He’d seen more ways to die than he had ever imagined, and none of them kind. Who can live through that and not be changed?

But he had managed well, or so he had thought. He’d held on to his values, to his morality and to his faith in himself. If he harbored any doubts about the necessity of the War, he did not voice them, even to himself. Instead, he returned home more determined than ever to advance in his chosen career as a policeman, standing on the side of right and protecting society from the evils in the world.

He and Rosie had married a scant few months before he deployed, so they had barely had a chance to get used to living together. For a long time after he returned, he blamed the awkwardness between them on the lack of a solid base before their long separation. Rosie didn’t agree. She kept telling him he had changed. At first, that mildly annoyed him. Of course he had changed, but not in any important aspect. He was still fundamentally himself, and that was something of a victory, but he couldn’t explain that to her.

Over time, though, his friends began noticing, too. Before the War, Jack had been admired for a very dry but very active sense of humor, but one day an old friend commented casually that he’d apparently left that back in a uniform pocket. Jack was forced to admit the truth of the observation. Very little in life struck him as humorous any more. And why should it? Every day he saw the ways men hurt other men, from little slights like pick-pocketing to assaults and murder. Nothing funny in any of that. So, he acknowledged his friend’s comment and decided he didn’t really care.

He advanced quickly in his job, despite being the son-in-law of a deputy commissioner. That perceived nepotism actually created more obstacles than open doors. But he won praise for his dispassion, his steadiness, and his persistence. Once a case fell to him, he quite literally did not rest until it was solved. Long days became the norm, and there were times when he didn’t make it home for days. With each promotion, the additional responsibility pulled him to the job and away from his home.

Poor Rosie tried to make the marriage work. He tried, too, but it exhausted him. Sometimes he tried to remember what it had felt like, falling in love with her, but the memory fell apart, like a worn and unraveled fabric. But she was so kind, and she tried so hard, so he tried to pretend. Until one night, they lay in bed in the dark after making love and he heard her softly crying and he realized that she knew it was just pretense. He felt guilty for hurting her, and silently reached for her. She turned and buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed. Still he said nothing, because he didn’t know what to say. That was the night he realized that he really didn’t care whether they were together or not, and for the first time he began to understand what she meant. He had changed. It wasn’t just that he didn’t love Rosie; he was simply numb to everything.

For a while he thought the numbness would wear off. When it didn’t, he thought about leaving. Rosie deserved better than she had with him. But guilt kept him there. Guilt, he noted, was one of the few emotions that penetrated the detachment that engulfed him. One year turned into two, then three, then five and things did not change. She continued to try to be a good wife and he continued to try to be a good husband.

In the end, it was Rosie who left. If they had a child, it might have been different, but it was just the two of them and, as Rosie said quietly, only one of them was really in the marriage. There was no fight, no angry confrontation. Rosie came to the station one afternoon when he was in the middle of a double murder investigation and told him she wouldn’t be there when he finally went home. He didn’t ask her to change her mind. His first reaction was a flash of gratitude that she had the courage to leave. While he didn’t tell her that, he did apologize and wish her well. After she left, he got right back into his investigation.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure when the world went lost its color, but sometime after Rosie left the brightness seeped out, and life became saturated with subdued tones, pastels and sepia and gray. Nothing sparkled, nothing popped, nothing grabbed his attention – and worst of all, he didn’t even notice it happening.

Until that day in the Andrews bathroom, when Phryne Fisher stood before him in a red-violet hat and dress, with red lips and big dark eyes that failed to hide the mischief she was otherwise concealing nicely. It was as if someone had splashed a vivid red ribbon across a gray canvas, and it left him startled. He was able to convert his surprise to irritation, but she ignored him and demurely described the full circumstances of the mysterious death based on nothing but the crude chalk outline on the tile floor. For the first time in longer than he could remember, his interest was piqued in someone other than a corpse or criminal. As she sashayed out of the bathroom, brushing against him lightly as passed, he felt another kind of interest for the first time in even longer. He watched her walk away, noting the trim figure and elegant posture, and then forced his attention back to the crime scene.

By the time Mrs. Andrews was arrested for her husband’s murder, he had finally and fully realized how much the War had changed him. The dull, colorless life he considered normal had been fractured by Phryne Fisher’s presence, and the numbness that had protected him from any intense feeling for so long began to finally, slowly, fade.

The recovery process was not much different than a wound healing – slow, often irritating and interrupted by the occasional setback. Phryne was a difficult woman in many ways – far more liberal in her outlook on life than anyone he’d ever known. That included a liberality with relationships, and at first he was a little shocked at the number of lovers she collected. She was stubborn, impulsive and too fearless for her own good. But that liberality also revealed her kindness and generosity; her stubbornness also manifested as loyalty and persistence, and that fearlessness was often real courage. Just being around her challenged him in new ways.

What he had been missing since Gallipoli was a zest for life, and it began to renew under exposure to Phryne. He thought the change was purely internal but oddly, the two people who also saw it were Rosie and Concetta Fabrizzi. Woman’s intuition, indeed. They were both good women who deserved happiness, but not with him, at least not now.

He and Phryne had been lovers for barely a month. No one knew; they were keeping it to themselves. She had finally felt ready to agree to try monogamy (at least for a while) and he was finally ready to connect with another person again. They had a lot of fun with their stealth, he had to admit. Some of the excitement of the relationship surely was bound up in the secrecy, with the little misdirections for their closest friends. Still, this was not destined to be a short-lived infatuation. Something deep and important was happening. What it might lead to, he couldn't say. That was the thing about Phryne - there was no point in trying to predict the future. 

And now she was flying her father to England. Or ... perhaps just to the next port of call for the steamer he had missed. “Come after me,” she said to him. “Come after me, Jack Robinson.”

That was, of course, impossible. Putting aside practical considerations such as his job, there would not be another passenger boat to England in port for at least two weeks. He could spend six or seven weeks on a ship only to discover that she had already started for home when he arrived. And it would mean a minimum of four months away, with no job waiting when they returned. It was impractical and impossible.

The bi-plane, barely more than a speck, dipped below the horizon and out of sight. He stared at the broad, empty sky for ten full seconds, noting that it was a pale shade against the light green trees of spring. It looked washed out and pastel, without sparkle or pop. He turned, and began walking back to his car.

She would stop for fuel in Perth, and since the weather prediction was for a storm there tomorrow, she was likely to have to spend a day or two waiting for decent flying weather. If he caught the 10:15 train, he might get there before she took off again. They could trundle the Baron onto his steamer while it was in port and be on their own just that quickly. “It’s a whole big world,” she had said, and damned if she wasn’t right.


End file.
